


Altitude Must be Maintained

by The_Reverend



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 14,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Reverend/pseuds/The_Reverend
Summary: When Martin finds himself homeless, Douglas steps up to assist his hapless captain. Being housemates is surprisingly good for both of them, and, growing closer, they begin to acknowledge a mutual attraction. But a misunderstanding, Martin's pride, and Douglas' skepticism threaten to destroy the fragile relationship building between them. Can MJN and their friendship survive?
Relationships: Martin Crieff/Douglas Richardson
Comments: 83
Kudos: 56





	1. One: Decompression

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the bounty of the 2020 quarantine!  
> I hope there are still Cabin Pressure fans out there who want to read this. Started in 2014, I aim to complete this fic, assuming we live through Covid-19. At the least, I hope to distract you from times that are not brilliant!

As much as he hates the thought, Martin knows he needs to call Douglas. 

His co-pilot already knows the depths of Martin’s financial insolvency, so this will be just one more piece of ammunition to hand him. Calling Arthur is tempting, but would inevitably lead to an extended explanation, pity, and likely a petition to Carolyn to take in her wayward captain. He’d like to retain what little pride he’s managed to salvage for himself at MJN, thank you very much. He’d like to at least have Arthur continue to look up to him.

Arthur would be overjoyed to help of course, and Carolyn would have to be understanding, seeing as how his free labor keeps her company afloat, but unlikely as he would have thought, Douglas emerges as his best option. He lives alone.

Feeling as if he’s initiating his own execution, Martin reluctantly pushes the button for Douglas’ number, and just when did Douglas capture the first spot in his phone favorites anyway?

It rings.

“Martin. To what do I owe the esteemed pleasure of a telephone call from an airline captain?”

Oh God, Douglas is in raring form.

“D--Douglas!”

“Yes, indeed, you have rung the number with which I am associated, and lo, to no one’s surprise but yours, it is I who answer. Unless you’re drunk dialing me, Martin? It’s a bit early for that, but you never know-”

“No! No! No, not drunk, I - I - I need…”

“Eloquent as always, mon capitan. Let’s save some time and let me guess why you would call me on what you know is my day off. Forgotten which direction to point the plane in? Carolyn gave Arthur a uniform that has more epaulets than yours and you are suitably miffed? Have you found your hands fused to the thrust levers and need extraction-”

“Douglas!”

Put upon dramatic sigh. “Yes, Martin, what is it you actually want?” 

“Douglas, I need a favor.” Now that he’s actually in it, doing it, Martin finds himself sweating. 

“And - and I’m serious Douglas, I don’t want you to tease me, I just want to know if you’ll help, yes or no.”

“Well, seeing as how teasing you is usually my compensation for services rendered, I will certainly have to hear the details of said favor before I can acquiesce or decline.” 

Douglas was already enjoying this.

“Knock it off, Douglas, This is serious.”

“So am I.” 

God, he was practically purring. Martin could just feel Douglas salivating at the chance to have something -- another thing -- to hold over him.

“Well, you know how I am a man-”

“-With a van, yes. Martin, I am not moving another piano.”

“No! No, nothing like that this time. It’s just that, well, the van is in the shop, you see, and you know how we’ve been really busy with flights lately, and you know how the van is my main source of income, and well, we haven't been home for me to use the van much, so I can’t afford the repairs, which means I can’t take any van jobs, which means..”

“ _ Martin _ …”

“They’re-cutting-off-my-benefits-because-I-missed-my-last-two-appointments-because-we-were-flying-and-now-the-van-is-broken-and-I-haven’t-any-jobs-so-I-can’t-pay-for-it-and-so-I’m-getting-kicked-out.”

The tsunami of words grows quieter until Douglas hears only the gasping of Martin’s shaky breath.

“What do you want me to-”

“I’m in trouble, Douglas, okay?” Martin actually shrieks this. “I don’t have anywhere to go and I’ve put off asking because of exactly this, but now, now…”

Is he crying?

“Martin, calm down and listen. It’s okay. I am going to help you and you can relax. Deep breaths. Now first, when do you need to vacate your -”

A sobbing gulp. “Now,” almost inaudibly.

“Now, as in today, or-”

“Now as in I’m standing on the pavement.”

“Oh, Martin.” Douglas can practically feel the shame dripping through the phone.

“Okay, listen Martin, I’m coming to get you right now. Just get your things together and don’t worry, all right? I’ll see you in a few.”

“Oh thank you, Douglas, thank you, thank you-” 

Douglas hangs up before either of them could be embarrassed further.

He shakes his head as he prepares to rescue the hapless Martin, already preparing several witty opening remarks as he gathers keys and wallet. 

He has a veritable plethora of one-liners ready by the time he pulls onto Parkside Terrace, but when he sees Martin, literally standing on the kerb next to a small pile of boxes, looking forlorn and desperate, he finds he doesn’t have the heart to reduce the man any further. Still, he has to say something to stave off the tears that seem imminent. 

“Your chariot, sir, has arrived.” He sees the smallest smile tug at the corner of Martin’s downturned mouth.

“Douglas, I really am grateful...” Martin begins in a wobbly voice.

“Hush, none of that. Now, let’s get these boxes into the car. I’m afraid we’ll have to take a second trip for the rest of your things, since my Lexus unfortunately does not have the cargo capacity of a van.”

Martin is looking away, mumbling something. 

“What’s that, Martin?”

“I said, this is all of my things.” he whispers. 

Douglas can’t help his automatic double take. Could Martin’s entire life really be contained in three cardboard boxes, a duffel, his traveling suitcase and garment bag, and a backpack? He recovers quickly. 

“Well, then, let us waste no time in spiriting you away to Chez Richardson, which I trust will be satisfactory to sir?”

Martin mutters something inaudible as he shoves the boxes into the tiny back seat.

The rest of the drive occurs in silence.


	2. Two: Alkalosis

Douglas expects Martin to relax the farther they get from his old lodgings, but he seems to shrink further into himself, hunkering into a bony ball on the bucket seat. 

As they pull into the driveway, Douglas tries to initiate. “Martin…”

“I really am grateful, thank you Douglas.” he interrupts quickly, in a tone that brooks no further conversation. 

Just as well, the man is clearly embarrassed and Douglas isn’t sure what he had been going to say anyway.

Hefting one of the boxes, he motions for Martin to follow him in. He is surprised to see Martin load himself with the rest of his belongings. Martin looked like a strong wind was about to snap him most days, but he must have some hidden muscle in order to pull off his moving gigs. 

Douglas finds himself scanning Martin’s body, searching for the source of this secret strength, then shakes himself out of the perusal. “This way, Martin…”

He leads him down the short hall to the spare bedroom. “You can stay in here, it’s all made up. I hope you won’t mind sharing a loo, although the kitchen quite makes up for it, I think.” He finds himself hoping Martin will like his place, which is ridiculous since this is a rescue mission.

“Oh!” Martin exclaims as they enter the room. “Oh, you don’t have to really, I can just stay on the couch, I don’t mean to be a burden and it’s only for a couple of days, until I get things sorted…”

“Nonsense, Martin. Why, if you were on the couch, then how would I watch telly?” Douglas gives him a full-wattage Richardson grin, seeking to calm him.

“Oh. I guess you’re right. As long as it’s not too much trouble, then.”

“Really Martin, would I trouble myself? Just add this to the ledger of favors owed me.” 

To underscore his point, Douglas turns down the duvet and pats the pillow. “Chez Richardson, and its sole proprietor, moi, are at your disposal.” He finishes with a hand flourish, bowing slightly.

Martin smirks. “Thank you Douglas, really, I mean it. I didn’t know what else -- I mean -- I hope I didn’t, that I’m not…”

Douglas places a soothing hand on the stuttering captain. “Really Martin, it’s no trouble. I hadn’t anything on this morning, I have a spare bedroom as you can see, and as long as you’re not a loo-hogger, then I am happy to help.” 

Martin seems to relax slightly at this. “Thank you.” he repeats.

Douglas nods. “Now, why don’t you get settled in? I have a few things to attend to, so take your time. The room is yours as long as you need it, so make yourself comfortable. I’ll give you the grand tour once you’re ready.” He closes the door slightly on his way out, giving Martin privacy but not closing him off.

For the next hour or so, Douglas putters, doing the little things around the house one does when he has time and nowhere else to be. Thinking a pot of coffee is in order, he bangs about a bit doing that until he realizes he hasn’t heard a peep from Martin. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep? Lord knows in his emotional state he’d looked close to collapsing. Knowing Martin, however, he is possibly waiting for a formal invitation to enter the rest of the house. 

Once the coffee brews (hand ground, shade-grown, fair trade organic, Douglas muses proudly, bit above the slop from the portakabin Martin is likely used to), he goes in search of his houseguest.

Approaching the guest room, he notes there are no unpacking sounds, so probably his first guess was correct: sleeping. He turns to go back to his coffee when he hears it, a tiny, sniffling, gulping sound, followed by a low “huhh...uhhh.”

Martin is crying.

Douglas hovers at the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. At any other time, he would likely leave Martin to his own weepy devices, but he had just rescued him from the kerb like a stray puppy, and they were to be housemates for the foreseeable future. If there ever was a right to intrude, Douglas has it now. 

“Here now, Martin,” he says, inching in quietly to where his captain sits hunched forward on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. “You’re okay now, what’s this for?” 

Martin just tucks his chin in tighter and shakes his head vigorously. “Nothing. M’fine. M’sorry.” He snuffles loudly and bends over even more.

“I’m sure you are.” Douglas carefully uses a soft, even tone. “But a guest of mine is crying and I’m afraid that’s strictly against the house rules of Chez Richardson and the staff simply won’t rest until they’ve provided complete satisfaction.”

This has the unintended consequence of making Martin sob even harder. At a loss, Douglas places a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me about it, Martin, you may feel better.”

Martin simply shakes and sobs harder, tears sneaking around the hands that are pressed to his face. This won’t do. “I should probably mention that what is said at Chez Richardson stays at--”

“Oh Douglas!”

He is unprepared for Martin to fling his arms around him and start sobbing into his shoulder. 

“Douglas, I’ve-I've fucked it all up. My parents were right, I’m hopeless and I should have just taken my dad’s business that had clients already and I can’t even support myself and I lost my place and probably my van and I’m imposing on my one friend to keep me off the streets but you’ll get sick of me and then it’s to the streets I go and I probably won’t be any good at begging either and I’m not even a proper pilot and this was all just a stupid dream and --” His wailing outburst has turned into hiccups as he quietly shakes apart against Douglas.

“Oh God, now I’ve gone and -- I am so sorry.”

“Shh...Shh.” Douglas instinctively encloses him in a hug, searching for the right words. “There’s no need to apologize, Martin, I’ve told you it’s no bother. But you really will feel better if you tell me all about what happened, especially as we’re to be housemates.”

This earns a tiny laugh from Martin against his shoulder, who takes a shuddering sigh. 

Douglas waits for him to speak and, quite without thinking, begins to stroke his hair soothingly. 

“Well, I -- you know I must have -- I mean, did you think I got by on random van jobs alone? So I had benefits, of course I wasn’t going to say, not much but enough, and, and then Carolyn was ecstatic, we were so busy with flights,  _ which I don’t get paid for _ , and sometime during that something went wrong with the van, and because of rescheduled flights I missed my last two appointments so I can’t access my benefits anymore. Without them, I can’t repair the van, or make any more money,  _ or _ pay my rent, and therefore I find myself,” he shudders, “here.”

“Is it really that bad here?” Douglas murmurs, still stroking through Martin’s curls. 

“God, no, I didn’t mean that, you’ve been lovely, actually, Douglas, you haven’t teased me once--” 

He suddenly squints up at Douglas through sodden ginger fringe, red-rimmed eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why  _ have _ you been so lovely, Douglas?”

“Oh, tut tut Martin, you act as if I am the devil. A friend in true need of assistance I would never mock.” He pulls back his hand and shifts away slightly. The emotional moment has passed. 

Martin snuffles loudly and looks embarrassed. “We’re...friends, then?” 

Douglas looks at him as if he were the stupidest thing, which, given recent events, could be accurate. 

“I believe that you, sir, called me  _ your one friend…” _

“Yes, alright, okay, too good to last. Thank you Douglas, for everything.”

“Say no more. Now is sir ready for some coffee and a tour?”

“Yes, great, let me just-” 

Douglas is already heading back toward the kitchen. “Bathroom’s the only door on your left.”

Martin emerges a few minutes later, clearly having washed his face and pulled himself into some semblance of normality. His eyes still shine faintly and his face looks red and puffy, which Douglas ignores.

“Ah, now which shall we-”

“Tour, please.”

“Is sir eager to survey his new fiefdom? Very well then.”

“...you see here before you the kitchen…” 

Douglas extolls the virtues of his Viking range and spacious refrigerator; taking Martin through where everything is located, the pantry, the breakfast bar, and then motions him through the sliding glass door where a tiny garden plot lies outside. 

“Oh, Douglas, this is quite nice. I never imagined you a gardener.”

Douglas smiles. “A bit. Good exercise, fresh air, and, you absolutely have not lived until you’ve tasted a warm strawberry fresh from the vine.” 

Douglas’ already low voice drops to positively sinful tones and Martin shivers. 

“Cold?” Douglas misinterprets. “Let’s go back in, show you the rest.”

Martin’s face lights up at the sunken den, running his finger along the built-in bookshelves and the lacquered black baby grand piano. 

Douglas finds he quite likes the idea of having someone to play for.

“You’ve been through the living room, obviously. My room is just up from yours, loo across...not much but enough for two bachelors to be getting by with, hopefully?”

“It’s lovely, Douglas, thank you. Again. I-I’ll try not to get in your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Douglas peers down at him sternly. “Martin Crieff, I doubt very much that is true.”

Martin flushes and looks away, gaze landing on the framed portraits in the hall. “Are these --”

“Good God, yes, it’s me, in all my stages of former glory.”

Martin is, of course, particularly taken with the photos that contain both Douglas and planes. 

He seems especially keen on the one of Douglas in front of a Silver Eagle propellor plane, scarf flying in the wind, holding an old-style helmet and grinning rakishly.

“Ah, my Red Baron photo. Always a favorite with the dates. And you too, it seems.” 

Martin would swear on his CPL license that Douglas is leering at him.

Martin moves to safer territory.

“And this is your daughter? She looks just like you.”

“Good God man, don’t say that, the poor girl!”

“No, no, she’s lovely…” Martin stammers, blushing again.

“Why, Captain, is that a backhanded compliment?” Douglas smirks, and then offers “Coffee?” sparing Martin a response.

“Yes, please.”

They settle themselves at the breakfast bar and flow surprisingly easily through a variety of topics: differences in how they take their coffees, the plans for the garden come spring, the astonishing variety of kitchen implements housed around them, and their upcoming flight schedules. By the time their coffees were drunk, Martin had actually toed off his shoes and was lounging precariously on his stool, one leg tucked under him, swiveling slowly back and forth.

Douglas grins at the comfortable picture they make. Martin seems to be relaxing, and Douglas finds he enjoys both the company and the conversation. Perhaps this favor would not be as trying as he’d thought.


	3. Three: Stabilization

Later that night, unpacking noises  _ finally _ issuing from Martin’s room, Douglas raps the door with his knuckles. He absolutely cannot resist.

“Hey, chief, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling rather famished. This makes me feel like we should eat. One thing we could do is order some take-away. How does that sound to you?” 

Douglas beams, clearly pleased with himself.

“Takeaway?” 

Martin is on his knees, rummaging through one of the three boxes, from which he produces, unsurprisingly, a model plane. “I’m fine, really, thanks, I’m not hungry. Um…”

Martin won’t meet his eyes and Douglas doesn’t need a course in Ipswich to tell him that Martin is worried about the cost.

“I insist you pick  _ something,  _ just a starter if you’re  _ really  _ not hungry, but it’s your first night as a guest in my house and I absolutely insist.”

Martin chews his lip, but stands up. “Well, okay then, first night and all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Douglas claps him on his very bony shoulder and resolves right then to always order double of everything and to leave some Martin-tempting foods about the house during his stay. Martin abhors the idea of receiving charity, but wouldn’t let already-purchased food go to waste. By the time he leaves Douglas’ care, he’ll certainly have gained some weight, he decides. 

“Now, which former dominion, colony, or protectorate’s native cuisine would you like to see represented tonight?”

“Anything’s fine, thank you Douglas, whatever you want to eat.” 

“Well, ambivalent as I am about the actions of the British East India Company, I find I am quite fond of the cuisine they procured…”

Martin grins despite himself. “You can’t just say you want Indian, can you? Why don’t you order something for me and I’ll finish up here.”

“As sir wishes.” Douglas performs an elaborate bow, and is rewarded by the sound of Martin’s high laughter all the way to the kitchen.


	4. Four: Barodontalgia

Martin is waiting anxiously for Douglas to pull into the driveway, steak in one hand. He pops it into the broiler the second Douglas turns off the car.

“Honey, I’m home!” Douglas jokes as he hangs his coat on the rack by the door.

It did actually feel good to be coming home to someone, though, and what is that delicious smell?

“Um. Hi.”

Martin emerges from the kitchen holding a wooden spoon and wearing Douglas’ burgundy butcher stripe apron.

“I hope you don’t mind, I saw all these great ingredients and appliances, and I got excited to use them, and, well, I made dinner.” He drops eye contact at the last. Maybe he should have asked permission…

“Martin! You made dinner? I had no idea sir’s abilities or interests extended to the culinary.”

“Very funny, Douglas. It’s just, I’ve not had access to such variety, and…”

Oh Lord, now he was embarrassed.

“Martin, stop. I’m pleased to have a meal made for me and I told you to make yourself at home. Now, tell me all about your culinary creation, and if I hear the term ‘surprising rice’...”

“Ha bloody ha. Well, you had this amazing spice collection, and there was a steak already in the fridge, and you had ‘chard’ which I’ve never heard of but I looked it up and then found this recipe and really it’s easy, cooking, you just follow directions, and...what?”

Douglas’ hand is over his mouth, his eyes dancing with mirth. “You made a steak. For me. May I see this masterpiece?”

“If you sit down, you can eat it. It’s almost ready.” He turns and removes a nicely seared steak from the broiler. “I don’t know how you take it, so I went with medium, which the websites all seemed to think was best.” He transfers the steak onto a plate and spoons a side of creamed chard next to it, along with a perfectly baked potato, which is how Douglas discovers he isn't planning on eating himself.

His eyes widen. “Martin, where’s your plate?”

“Oh. I’m not eating. I wanted to make something nice for you, for -- you know -- and I wouldn’t just steal your steak --”

“Martin. Listen to me very carefully. ‘Make yourself at home’ means that you should do exactly that. If you keep tiptoeing around and thanking me I am going to be uncomfortable in my own home. As much as I thought I’d enjoy you finally showing me the proper deference, it won’t do. If you wish to thank me by cooking, then by all means do so, but cook for us, not for me. In short, take half of this now.”

Martin nods silently and moves to take half, fervently praying that the thrill that ran through him at Douglas’ honeyed tones saying the word us, in this context, is not visible to the man who misses nothing.

They tuck into the steak, surprisingly tender, the chard perfectly sauteed and creamed.

“Martin,” Douglas says inelegantly around a mouthful of food, “I’d no idea you could cook like this.”

Martin blushes (he really does blush so charmingly easily) and pushes food around on his plate, dropping his gaze. “I didn’t either. Like I said, it’s just following directions, and, and actually having food…” He trails off, blushing even more furiously.

“You needn’t be embarrassed about your pecunious past, Martin. I spirited you away in your time of need, remember? And thus, I can no longer jest about that particular shortcoming in the life of one Martin du Creff.”

“You mean it?” Martin’s head jerks back up, face hopeful. “No joking about how I don’t get paid, or how I’m not a professional, or how I got kicked out, or--”

“I mean it, Martin,” Douglas assures quietly. “I know it took courage for you to ask for help and I won’t throw that in your face. Now that the cat is out of the hold, so to say, about your cooking, however, I am not likely to forget that.”

“You really like it?”

That fetching shy blush again...

“I really do. Now eat up so we can indulge in my post-prandial ritual of piano, telly, and tea.” The piano part was actually not normally part of his routine, but Douglas is absolutely dying to show off.


	5. Five: Rarefaction

Douglas awakes to the smell of coffee...and bacon...and...warm syrup? Pancakes.

He sniffs the air appreciatively, stretches, and yawns. A man could get used to this, he thinks, shrugging on his robe and padding down to the kitchen. He had been the cook in most of his previous relationships, so this deal with Martin was turning out to be a nice change of pace.

“Morning, Douglas!” An entirely too cheery for this hour Martin thrusts a cup of coffee at him. 

“Good morning, Martin. Am I to expect such a feast every morning?” 

He eagerly waits for the near compulsory flush to creep up Martin’s throat to his face, and finds himself strangely disappointed when it doesn’t come.

“Don’t be silly, Douglas, of course not, but we’re both off today and I wanted to --”

“--Express your extreme gratitude at my largesse, my magnanimity, my philanthropy, my--” 

Douglas’s soliloquy is interrupted by Martin unceremoniously shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth.

“Oof...why captain, that’s quite good.” 

Martin beams. “It’s baked, and rubbed with a little brown sugar. Now shut up and you can have the rest.”

He heaps two plates and they eat in companionable silence.

As they eat, Douglas tries very hard to imagine Martin -- prissy, pompous, self-righteous Martin walking (no, more likely sneaking) into the benefits office, waiting on the long, low benches filled with people who were certainly not captain material. 

The image is so incongruous that he can only ever picture Martin showing up in his full captain’s uniform, demanding to know where the Captain’s benefits line is. 

He pictures Martin amongst all the downtrodden folk hoping for a boost to their situation. Maybe he would go in a threadbare t-shirt, fearing expulsion if he doesn’t look the part.

He is so deep in thought now considering Martin in places he least expects him: In a bar, ordering some heady concoction; at the beach, showing skin in skimpy swimwear; in a tawdry pose on a hotel bed... _ what? _ ...that by the time that disturbing image interrupts his reverie, Martin has already done the dishes and is bouncing on his heels in a very Arthur-like way.

Douglas realizes he is waiting for a response to something. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Martin smiles at him. 

“Sorry if I’m interrupting the planning of a Douglas-scheme, but I was wondering what you had on for today?”

Douglas still feels off-kilter. 

“Oh. Today. Well. I was rather thinking of taking in some culture, perhaps that new exhibit on Munch down at the museum. Why, did you want to come?

“No. Oh, no, I was just wondering. Have a great time.” Martin heads off to his room nonchalantly suspicious, leaving Douglas vaguely worried if his house will be intact when he returns.


	6. Six: Cruising Height

When Douglas returns, it is to find his house completely immaculate.

Douglas is a fairly neat person, well, he has been since recovery, but it is clear that the house has been hoovered, dusted, mopped...it would seem that when he took in Martin, he took in a cook and maid as well.

He has no doubts that Martin is attempting to repay him, in ways that he can. It’s rather sweet. Martin himself is nowhere to be seen.

This pattern repeats itself over the coming weeks. Martin will often cook, always cleans, and makes himself scarce during Douglas’ times off.

Martin has also taken to doing small, easily overlooked things that, when taken together, make Douglas’ day better in tiny little ways. Things like recording Top Gear for him, keeping fresh towels in the bathroom instead of lazily stretching ones to their odor limit, and picking up the everyday detritus that Douglas leaves in his wake. It’s like having a wife again without the arguments.

Without the sex, too, unfortunately, but Martin is the least likely candidate to fill that role. Well, excepting Arthur. Martin at least acted like an adult, too much like one actually. It would behoove him to relax more, smile.

What would a fully relaxed, unguarded Martin Crieff look like, Douglas wonders, and what would make him unwind?

The unbidden image of Martin stretched nude beneath him returns, with embellishment. Martin is looking up at him, eyes trusting, and bleeding hell, Douglas needs to get this under control.

Whatever this is.

He’s used to looking at nearly everyone with a casually carnal eye, but doing so with Martin feels profane somehow, not to mention utterly ridiculous.

Still, it’s touching, all the little things that Martin notices and the subtle ways that having him around actually makes things nicer.

He would never admit it, but Douglas likes living with Martin.

Not that it’s all a honeymoon. Martin is still Martin: prickly, thin-skinned, defensive, and proud, and he is loath for their arrangement to appear as charity or himself to be a burden.

“You know,” Douglas says to him one day as Martin is preparing to leave the house on yet another day off.

“You can actually stay here when I’m here. You don’t always have to be performing a service while I’m in the house. You could just watch telly, or read a book, or, I don’t know, just relax.”

Martin pauses with one hand in the sleeve of his jacket. He is blushing already. Ah, there it is.

“I know that, it’s just...I don’t want to be underfoot, or invade on your privacy.”

Douglas sighs. “How about this, Martin? The second you are becoming an annoying burden, I will let you know. If I need the house to myself, I will let you know. At least hang around and play some of that flight simulator you’re so fond of. I thought my end of this deal was that I got some company…”

“Okay.” Martin shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it back up. “But if I’m on the computer then I’ll be in my room and that won’t be much company for you.”

“Or,” Douglas is peering at him over his half-glasses, pencil poised over the crossword. “You could play it -- I’m sorry -- train on the computer here, which has the added bonus of coming with the ‘Professional’ version of “Lockheed Martin Prepar-3D. Prepared? I don’t know how they want me to say it, but it’s on there.”

“Really?” Martin’s eyes light up and he glances eagerly over at Douglas’ computer, which, like the rest of his possessions, is far newer than anything Martin owns.

“Yes really.” Douglas is back to the crossword, not making eye contact now. “Why do you think I bought it?” he murmurs.

“That’s -- that’s very generous of you Douglas, thank you.”

It is a testament to their growing camaraderie that Martin settles down to play the game rather than spending the next five minutes stammering out his thanks.


	7. Seven: Pressure Vessel

Over the weeks, Martin finds he is feeling more and more comfortable in Douglas’ house. 

So much so that he is the one who actually lets their situation slip. 

He hadn’t exactly asked for it to be a secret, but neither of them had mentioned anything at work and he was happy to keep it that way. 

Since Carolyn physically (reluctantly) handed Douglas his checks, and reached them both on their cells, there was no real reason for her to know. Martin had remained silently grateful to Douglas for keeping his unspoken promise and not bringing their living arrangements up.

They’d had a long flight. Not long enough to include a stayover but just long enough to be utterly exhausting. 

“God.” Martin says, swiping his hand across his face as they pour into the portakabin. “I’m exhausted, Douglas, let’s just go home.”

“What.”

The two of them freeze like guilty children at Carolyn’s tone, both turning slowly to face their scowling boss.

“Please don’t tell me the two of you have shacked up!”

“Carolyn! I-I-I-I-I-”

“Eloquent as ever, Martin. I shall take this one. Yes, Carolyn, we are living together, no we are not sleeping together, I have taken on Martin as a roommate, and, even if we were sleeping together, it wouldn’t be any of your business except that you could just ring round once to get us both. Which you can do now. Think of it, you can save money on sending a car just to one place now, so really, you should be overjoyed that we’ve begun an MJN bachelors club. Come now Martin, let us away to our fine fraternity.”

He swings an arm casually over Martin’s shoulders, steering the gaping captain away from an equally gaping Carolyn.

They barely make it outside before bursting into matching peals of laughter.

“Oh God, her face, Douglas, what was that, why did you, Oh God, her face, Douglas.”

Neither of them would later admit to the high-pitched giggles coming from both of them.

“Oh lord, I should have said we were shagging. She may have blown a gasket then!”

“Oh God, Oh God.” Martin is clutching his sides, gasping for breath. 

“Yes Carolyn,” he says, in an odd deep tone which is apparently his impression of Douglas. “Martin and I are about to go home to have crazy monkey sex like we always do.”

“Mon-monkey sex, really Martin?” Douglas is actually sniffling now, eyes leaking a bit.

“I don’t know, who has tons of sex all the time?”

“Us, apparently!” Douglas can barely get out before he begins snorting.

They are leaning against the Lexus, wiping their eyes and still giggling when Carolyn shepherds a confused-looking Arthur past them to her car.

She gives them the finger.


	8. Eight: Oxygen Tension

Carolyn hasn’t mentioned their “bachelors’ club” since, but the pilots feel as if they’ve won something over her. 

Douglas finds himself grinning more than he can recently remember, and Martin has loosened up considerably. All Douglas has to do now is quirk an eyebrow Martin’s way suggestively, and the captain will slump over the controls, giggling fiendishly. 

The problem is that now Douglas has this errant image of buggering Martin senseless over the console that pops into his head at the most vicious of times. 

He’s not sure if it’s Carolyn’s fault, or his, for creating that nightmare, but it’s certainly not Martin’s since there is nothing at all remotely sexually appealing about his scrawny, shrill, insecure co-pilot. 

Certainly not appealing is the way Douglas could make him blush, what he is sure is a full-body blush, at the tiniest comment. And with skin that pale...

“Goddamit, Carolyn!” Douglas snarls.

“Whoah, what was that?” Martin asks from the pilot’s seat. 

“Nothing...nothing.” he stammers, completely wordless.

 _This must be how Martin feels usually, and wouldn’t he like to feel how Martin - damnit!_ It’s like an innuendo floodgate has opened, and now he can’t stop the flow of suggestive quips and imagery from racing through his mind. 

“I’ve got to stretch my legs.” He mutters, swiftly rising. “You have control.”

“Oh, dooooo I?” 

Martin purrs at him in what is definitely a seductive tone and _what the hell is going on he has to get out of this cabin._

Douglas lumbers through the cockpit door.


	9. Nine: Equivalent Effective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who are reading a new fic for an old fandom.  
> But we do have 3 episodes of CABIN FEVER so far to tide our fandot through this epidemic and bring us back together!  
> Thank you to John Finnemore, Roger Allam, Benedict Cumberbatch, Stephanie Cole, and Anthony Head for giving us Cabin Pressure.

Martin frowns as Douglas practically trips over himself in his haste to flee the cabin.

_Great going, Crieff_ , he frets. Things have been going so well, and you just have to push it. You just have to keep going until he’s uncomfortable. You’re finally in on the joke and you take it too far.

He’d been a little in awe of Douglas when they first met, which changed into a bit of a crush once he heard the first officer’s sultry voice, which changed to guarded jealousy once he got to know the man. Douglas had frittered away the career Martin wanted, didn’t respect the one he had, and generally effortlessly got whatever Martin struggled for.

He’d be lying if he said the crush had completely gone away, a fact which Douglas must never ever find out, which means he is playing with fire here.

He’s not going to screw this up even more, he’s going to fix this quickly.

The second the cockpit door swings open, he’s talking. “Douglas, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…” but Douglas is shaking his head.

“No no, Martin, I’m sorry. I should have known that to keep the spark alive in our marriage that you would want to have control sometimes.”

At his pointedly raised eyebrow and head jerk, Martin looks over to see that Douglas’ finger is on the intercom button seconds before he hears Carolyn spluttering from the cabin.

And just like that, they are okay again.


	10. Ten: Bleed Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone figured out what is going on with the chapter titles yet?

Martin is taking their rubbish out to the bins when he sees an elderly woman hovering at the fence on the other side of the garden. 

“Yoo hoo, young man?” 

She can’t mean him, can she? He looks around, panicked, sees nobody else.

“Yes, you, ginger boy, are you Dougie’s new beau?”

“What?” 

“Come over here so I can meet you.”

Trapped, Martin dutifully shuffles over.

“There, now. you’re a little thing, aren’t you?” She extends a bony hand over the fence. 

“Eunice Turner. And you are?”

“Ca- Martin. Martin Crieff.”

Her eyes light up with mischievous delight. “Oh, so you’re Martin! Dougie’s little captain!” 

She winks at him and Martin nods, unsure of how to respond to that.

“Can’t say I expected him to bring you home, I rather thought he’d go for another woman, but Dougie does seem happy these days…”

“What?” Martin says again, stupidly.

“Oh, you know, he’s been so depressed with his divorce and all, but he always makes time to check on me. Dougie’s been such a dear since he moved next to me, always checking to see if I need any shopping and the like.”

“ _D_ \- _Dougie_ does?” At least he’s moved on to a new word to stammer.

Eunice doesn’t notice. “Oh yes, he never asks for anything except I do try to keep him stocked in biscuits.” She eyes Martin predatorily. “Didn’t know he fancied blokes at all, but you’re so thin, and those curls…”

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Martin turns away, feeling his face heat. “And it’s not like that really. I’m just staying-”

“No, no, no, I’m not a prejudiced old lady. If you make Dougie happy, it’s all the same to me. Course, anyone’s better than that awful wife of his.”

“You met Helena?” Martin can’t help his curiosity winning out over his embarrassment; this woman has been a fount of information regarding Douglas. He turns back to his new informant.

“Oh yes.” She responds eagerly to this opening for more gossip and leans in closer, elbows on the fence. “Pretty thing, of course, but to cheat on a nice boy like Dougie is just unforgivable. With all the cads in the world, and here he is helping out a poor, defenseless old lady…” 

Martin doubts she is that at all, but nods emphatically for her to continue. He has to bite his tongue to refrain from snickering at the idea of anyone calling Douglas Richardson a boy. This is getting good. 

“Did you know,” she whispers, as if there were someone to overhear them, “that he took her back three times? Three times! And after he had to move out here as if _he_ were the one dallying, leaving her their house!”

“I didn’t know that.” Martin whispers too, rapt. 

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me.” Eunice continues. “Each time I think it killed him a little bit more. Stringing him along like that. He let her stay here, all flitting about the place as if she owned it, too, and each time they’d have some terrible fight. I wasn’t eavesdropping, you see, it’s just that they were so loud…”

“Of course not.” Martin motions for her to continue, making a mental note to keep his voice down.

Eunice is clearly relishing an audience. “Well, each time he kicked her back out, she’d come round a few weeks later all weepy and apologizing, and the poor man would take her back.”

She squints at him, clearly sizing him up. “But now you’re here, I hope he’s done with all that business. You’re not planning on running around on Dougie too, are you? Using him for his generosity like that Helena?”

“I-I don’t, I’m not…”

“There, there, I can see you care for him. He’s just the sweetest boy and I hate to see him so lonely. But he’s been so chipper since you moved in I just assumed he had a new ladyfriend.”

“Mrs. Turner, I’m really not-”

“Don’t worry, Dougie will fatten you right up. He does so dote on his dates.”

“His dates?” God, his contribution to this conversation is pathetic.

“Those girls do seem to hang on him. That’s why I was so surprised to see you. But you _are_ rather short and he does talk about you-”

“I’ve really got to go. It was lovely talking to you, Mrs. Turner.” He interjects before she can insinuate anything further. He doesn’t need to be any more insecure about his appearance.

He flees to the safety of the house, head spinning with the glut of new information.

He is still processing when Douglas returns home, whistling.

“How was your day, Martin?”

Martin interrupts his confusing reverie to reflect on how nice it is to have someone ask that. 

He declines to admit that he met the neighbor; she is too good a source of information for now. 

“Good. It was good.” He studies “Dougie” closely, certain that his appearance has changed in light of this new information. Douglas, his smarmy co-pilot, who teases and smuggles and has three failed marriages...and who apparently assists old ladies while expecting nothing, who was so invested in his wife that he let her walk all over him, and who has been...depressed? 

It’s as if he is seeing Douglas now in a new light, one that makes him more human and vulnerable. 

He feels an affinity for this Douglas, and so he tips his head backward over the couch arm and smiles up at him.

“Hey Douglas,” he says, “I’ve been having a really nice time. Have you?”

Douglas pauses in his divesting and looks at him quizzically. “Actually, Martin, it surprises me to say it, but I have. You make a fine roommate. Now if you could get the stick out of your arse at work, we’d really be onto something.”

“Very funny, Douglas.” Martin gripes, but he is still smiling. 

Douglas finds himself inadvertently staring at the long expanse of neck Martin has exposed in this position. Somehow, in this unusual pose, Martin’s features seem striking, from the cut of his cheekbones to his plump, defined lips.

_Jesus Christ, what is happening here?_ Douglas clears his throat and turns away before he notices anything else. “No dinner on tonight, captain?”

“Hmm? No.” 

Douglas turns back from the closet to find Martin still in that ridiculous position. His face is flushed completely red and as he swallows, Douglas cannot look away from the hypnotic rise of the adam’s apple in his throat.

If Martin seems to be staring at him strangely too, it must be his own guilty imagination.

“Well, then, let’s go out, my treat.” The last thing he wants right now is more alone time with Martin.

An easy smile slides back onto Martin’s face. “Sure, if you want to, Douglas. That would be lovely.” 

He sits himself up, blood rushing away from his face, accenting those bloody cheekbones. 

Martin is breathing heavily, and Douglas is captivated again. Martin’s mouth is open, mussed curls hanging over his face. Douglas resolves to steer him away from his usual severe haircut in the future. 

He coughs into his hand and looks away.

_Damn_ Carolyn for this, he thinks.

It’s not just her shocked outburst that drove them to play their false flirtation game affecting him. 

Of all people, it’s Carolyn who’d first noticed the change in him, sending Douglas’ hindbrain further down this unlikely path. 

She’d remarked that he seemed more jovial these days, looking better rested and, possibly, happy? 

“Who’s the unfortunate lady who has put the spark of love into your eyes this time, Douglas?” She’d asked, all innocent tones hiding a familiar glee at the prospect of future teasing.

His mind had whirled as he’d realized having Martin around _had_ improved his general mood and was not as interminable as he’d feared. Having Martin around made him happy. _Martin Crieff_ was making him happy _._

He’d stammered out some unintelligible response and stumbled out of the portakabin. 

Now he finds himself noticing as Martin stretches, both the tantalizing lines that lead from his belly down to his hips, and how worn and threadbare Martin’s t-shirt is, reminding of how little he really has. A sudden urge to care for Martin even more wells up, to buy him new things that would flatter his figure, to see him smile as he slips on something cashmere…

“Douglas?” 

“Sorry, what?” 

Martin still has that soft smile.

“Where did you go then?”

“Just...thinking. Now, about that dinner, where would you like to go? You choose.”

That should keep Martin occupied long enough for him to compose himself. 

“You’re always in the mood for sushi, right, Douglas? So let’s do that.”


	11. Eleven: Propulsion

During their dinner, Douglas has the distinct feeling that for some reason, Martin keeps staring over at his hands. 

For his own part, he can’t help noticing the positively sinful shape Martin’s mouth makes around each bite of sushi.  _ Were his lips always blow-up doll shaped and Douglas is somehow just now seeing this _ ? and so he says nothing about Martin’s odd behavior.

As he watches Martin pop another piece of maki roll into his mouth, Martin groans with delight, a shockingly deep noise, eyes fluttering closed  _ surprisingly long lashes  _ and Douglas starts to think,  _ why not?  _

It’s a truly ridiculous line of thought. He’s twenty years older than Martin. Even given his social ineptitudes, he will eventually find someone his own age. 

They work together, and Martin is nothing if not by-the-book and would never allow it.

There is absolutely nothing good that could come from making a move on Martin.

“Douglas, you have to try this.” Martin is saying and leaning forward with a sushi piece clasped between his chopsticks and Douglas doesn’t even consider refusing and their eyes meet as he closes his mouth around the chopsticks and Martin’s tongue appears to slide between his lips and Douglas feels himself harden in his pants and  _ what the fuck is happening are they doing this  _ and then Martin pulls back with a small smile.

“Good, right? Thanks for this, Douglas. And - and I mean it, thanks for everything.”

He is still making eye contact and Douglas has to say something, now, now, before Martin looks at him too closely.

He swallows, calculating. 

“Delightful, Martin, yes, thank you. This spot is a favorite of mine and I’m glad you like it. And as for  _ everything,  _ well…” He drops his voice purposefully, feeling the return of power that comes from teasing Martin.

“You are more than welcome. It has not turned out to be the  _ complete hardship _ I’d imagined it would be.” 

Martin rolls his eyes in response.

That night, Douglas has a rather rough and unsatisfying wank.


	12. Twelve: Continuous Flow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start to earn our rating, folks!

One night when he can’t sleep, Martin finds himself studying the older pictures of Douglas. He is younger in them, of course, less careworn, and thinner, but he thinks that he likes the current Douglas better. 

He may be softer, but he has a less haughty look to him, and the silver of his hair now makes him more distinguished, appealing, even. He finds it hard to reconcile the thinner-faced Douglas with the man whose cheeks shake with laughter. The extra bits he’s gained under his eyes and on his chin make him appear cuddly, even. 

Until he opens his silver-tongued mouth, that is. 

Martin wonders what it would feel like to be wrapped up in Douglas, the older man’s larger limbs encompassing his own. He imagines he would feel safe in those strong arms, maybe rest his head on Douglas’ belly while a large hand strokes his head. Martin would say something funny and his pillow would rumble with laughter and... _oh, God, he was doing it again._

How had he thought spending this much time with Douglas was a good idea in light of his feelings? _You didn’t think it was a good idea,_ he reminds himself, _you didn’t have any choice._

Forced decisions: the story of his life. 

Except look at most of the times he _was_ allowed to make the decisions. 

What did he do then? 

Agree to be an unpaid Captain, turn off the heat in the hold, take the wrong end of bets...why should this turn out any better?

Here things are going swimmingly between them, but it’s only a matter of time before he stares too moon-eyed at Douglas and he rightfully tosses him out on his arse. 

If Douglas only knew the dulcet tones he uses to tell Martin some mundane thing turn into liquid come-ons in his ear.

If he only knew that Martin snuck peeks at him making the short journey from shower to bedroom in various states of undress. 

If he only knew that while he’d sat in his attic room on his ‘95 flight simulator, he’d imagine conversations he’d have with Douglas if they were actually flying. 

If he only knew some of those scenarios made their way into his masturbation fantasies.

Martin had never thought of himself as gay, but there was no denying that it was always Douglas he fantasized about, a great bear of a man. He’d never really pondered his sexuality at all; he’d been too focused on getting his CPL, and since he wasn’t getting anywhere with anyone it didn’t really matter. 

No one was interested, and he hadn’t been looking.

But Douglas...he’d intrigued Martin from the first, smug and surly, honeyed tones dripping with sarcasm. 

He’d immediately intimidated the new captain; they both knew he was inexperienced and Douglas didn’t hide his resentment at being First Officer. Martin hadn’t helped matters any with his insistence on authority. But even when Douglas was pissing him off, which was often, the grace with which he moved his large body (compared to Martin’s slight, but bumbling frame) was undeniable. The smoothness and surety of his hands on the controls was hard to look away from (Martin was finding his hands more and more captivating), and when he wasn’t teasing Martin, the man possessed the quickest wit of anyone he’d ever met. 

Martin could scarcely believe that fate had thrown them together at MJN. That was the place for people like him, like Arthur, but Douglas is and had been a real pilot, commanding the awe of passengers and the eye of hosties the world over. 

If he hadn’t had his smuggling mishap, he’d never give Martin the time of day. Likely their only contact would have been Martin observing the older pilot in an airport lounge somewhere, wishing desperately that he could be more like him. 

Now that he knew the nuances of Douglas Richardson, the fantasy was shattered.

If he’d only seen him once or twice in a foreign hub, he would have remained this slick silver fox, representing the unattainable for Martin both in himself and a partner. 

_Partner_ , as if anything about the two of them was equal, and yet, and yet, he couldn’t really picture anyone else in a romantic context. And wasn’t that just great? Here he was, living with Douglas, but in the most platonic way possible and it was far too late to say anything.

A recurring theme in his masturbatory fantasies had been Douglas surprisingly appearing at the top of the attic stairs, casting a sweeping glance about the small room, and vowing to take Martin away from all this. 

Well, he had done that, in fact, but just like his dream of flying, this one was corrupted by reality. 

He flew, but it impoverished him; Douglas had fetched him, but out of pity. 

He really is an ungrateful sod if he can’t be satisfied with what he has, always wanting more. 

At least he was used to taking what he could get. He had Douglas for a friend, got to spend time with him every day, and just maybe, some of the Richardson charm would eventually rub off on him, and that’s enough.

That should be enough.

It must be the daily proximity, or Douglas’ unexpected humor and kindness that are making his feelings harder to repress. Instead of diluting his fantasy, as he’d hoped living with Douglas might do, seeing the small foibles in the sky god image are making Douglas appear tantalizingly attainable. 

He isn’t really a god, he’s first officer to a clearly inferior pilot, whose drinking lost him his posh job and who has three divorces and a child he rarely sees and who won’t tell anyone how lonely he is _and, oh God,_ every damn stray thought seems to lead him back to his glimpses of Douglas’ soft underbelly, and Martin feels special for getting to see it and maybe they do have something building, and before he knows it, his hand is in his pants again.

He feels guilty when he furtively touches himself, thinking of Douglas, both terrified and aroused by his proximity and the possibility of being caught.

Douglas would be horrified.

Douglas would throw him out.

_Maybe maybe Douglas might like it??_

He turns back to his room, before he actually is caught staring at pictures of Douglas in the dark, half hard.

He stops instantly upon hearing a deep, low grunt from Douglas’ room.

He stands silently still, not breathing, waiting, but whatever it was, the noise is not repeated again.

He flees to his room where the noise plays on repeat in his head while he jerks himself to completion.


	13. Thirteen: Interlude

They would have argued through the landing if Martin hadn’t been a stickler for regulations. As it is, they’re arguing as they leave the plane, enter the portakabin, and perform their post-landing rituals. 

They are still arguing as Douglas puts on his coat to leave. He’s at the door before he realizes Martin isn’t with him. He turns to see Martin standing by his desk, clutching his cap in his hands and staring at the floor. The fight seems to have gone out of him.

“Martin?” Douglas inquires, “Aren’t you coming?” 

“I, um.” 

He sounds again like the less-assured Martin from before he lived with Douglas. 

“I wasn’t sure what you would want me to do, what with-”

“Oh for God’s sake, Martin. We’re arguing, that’s all. I’m not going to kick you out on the street because we’re having a disagreement. Really, how _have_ you let people treat you?”

And that is the moment where Douglas comes to feel possessively protective of Martin, to think of him as _his_. He wants to erase whatever damage it’s clear now has been done to him, and show him how things can be, particularly at the hands of a Sky God.

Everything about Martin cries out to be protected - then he postures and blusters and makes himself into an insufferable twat. 

It’s likely this combination is what has driven others away. Douglas himself is confused as to how Martin can manage to be imperious and fragile at the same time. Martin Crieff is a complex, perplexing creature, and now Douglas intends to unravel him.

  
  
  


Martin awakes the next day, a day off of flying, but with several van jobs scheduled later, to the smells of cooking and sound of Douglas quietly singing. He lies in bed just to listen to Douglas sing, voice dipping preternaturally low in a vaguely familiar opera aria.

Martin smiles to himself as he finally clambers out of bed, pulling on his thin robe and padding down to the kitchen. The smells grow more tantalizing the closer he gets. “What’s all this, Douglas?”

“Ah! Sir awakens from his slumber. Coffee’s ready, food is nearing done, and _now_ it’s a lovely morning.” Douglas winks at him.

Martin fumbles into a chair quickly. He must not be fully awake because he would swear Douglas just flirted with him. He shakes his head and accepts the mug of coffee pushed into his hands. If Douglas’ fingers brush over his, it is just his imagination that they leave a spark behind. Douglas is just being kind, like he has been since Martin moved in, nothing more.

Douglas has been _so kind_ , allowing Martin to live there has enabled him to get the van fixed, he’s kept his promise about not making fun of him ( _within reason Martin, you can’t take all my fun away)_ , and Martin finds that they’re both more patient with Arthur and Carolyn.

“So.” Douglas booms from behind him while ladling food onto his plate and _when had he moved so close?_

“I thought, as I’ve nothing on today, that I might assist you with your moving jobs.” Douglas says, smoothly as ever, and Martin can’t help but gape.

“You want to...help me move things?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Douglas casually munches a slice of bacon.

Martin’s face twists into suspicion. “Why? Why would you want to do that? You never do any work you can get out of.”

Douglas affects a wounded look. “If you don’t want me there, I won’t come, Martin. Just offering my available services.”

Did Douglas just flex his arm as he raised his mug? Certainly not. But Martin can’t help but notice _again,_ how broad Douglas is, how large and strong his hands are compared to Martin’s thin fingers.

He has no reason to refuse.

“Well, okay then, thanks, Douglas. It will be nice to have an extra set of hands and some company.”

“Excellent.” Douglas purrs back at him. 

They finish the rest of their breakfast in silence.

Douglas is in an oddly cheerful mood for reasons Martin can’t understand. He’s doing manual labor, after all!

Martin knows why he’s in a good mood: the job is completed in half the time, he gets to watch Douglas heft and lift and carry.

If he falls asleep thinking about Douglas’ hands and how large they are and how they might feel, well, no one needs to know that.


	14. Fourteen: Weight and Lift

Douglas contemplates, more and more frequently, the paradox that is Martin.

If Martin had been singularly prim and prissy, they would never be friends. Instead, he wildly vacillates between arrogance and crippling anxiety, pride and a desperate need for acceptance.

_ Martin, if you could only relax.  _

_ If only you would be yourself and stop trying to fill some imaginary expectation of who you should be. _

_ If only you could stop worrying and let yourself enjoy things. _

Then he meets Martin’s family.

Seeing the entire Crieff clan in action certainly slots things into perspective.

No wonder Martin is a walking contradiction, simultaneously anxious and arrogant.

His brother is a bully, his mother a pushover, his sister snobbish, and from what he’s heard of his father, he had been distant. 

Martin was left to shape himself as a child and what he assembled seems put together from the worst aspects of his family. 

If Douglas hadn’t been privy to the tender, caring bits of Martin he would have continued to see him as an undeserving interloper. Now he understands how lost and lonely Martin has been his entire life. 

He decides, on top of the other resolutions, to expend more of an effort to build up Martin’s self esteem after meeting his family. The poor boy hadn’t much of a chance at success of turning into a functional person if this is what he’d been working with.

Douglas’ own parents had been not perfect, of course, but had shown their love and support in different ways and helped him achieve his various, changing goals. They’d seen him through two marriages before passing into the great beyond and had been excited at both. They’d been proud when he studied medicine and proud when he’d become a pilot instead.

He feels relieved, now, that they hadn’t been there to see two other marriages fail, plus the smuggling snafu and the drinking. What would they think of MJN and his bisexuality... _ no _ . Wasn’t that the whole point of this reverie? That he had grown up with level headed, supportive parents, the very thing Martin lacked? While they wouldn’t agree with some bad decisions, they would always be there to pick him up and help him through the rough times. And they would come to accept his orientation the same way they did his divorce. Different times, and all that.

What was wrong with Martin’s family anyway? 

They are relaxing after dinner one night when Martin goes into one of his self-pitying rants concerning Simon. This one is about how the elder Crieff manages to look like a real man and not a twelve year old boy.

“Don’t be silly, Martin, you’d look ridiculous with a moustache, bushy or otherwise. Stop comparing yourself to him.”

“Everyone does.”

“I don’t.”

“No, you compare me to you! Don’t you think I do that too? That’s why I - why you’re--” He breaks off in a panic.

“Why what, Martin?” Douglas asks gently.

“It’s nothing, forget I said anything.” Martin’s face is already scarlet, and he scrambles to his feet, attempting to leave the room.

“Martin, wait, don’t leave. If there’s a problem between us-”

Just as abruptly, he collapses back onto the couch and covers his face with his hands.

Douglas needs to tread carefully here.

“Martin, can I ask you something?”  _ Why are you like this? What are you so afraid of? Why can’t you relax? What do you think of me... _

“Why are you so obsessed with flying?” Is what actually comes out.

They both look equally surprised at the question. If he’d asked any of the others, it would likely go unanswered. But he’d just asked  _ Martin  _ about  _ flying. _

Martin swallows heavily and rests his head on the back of the couch.

“My family…” he begins, and Douglas sits next to him, gingerly.

“Go on.”

“My family, well, I never quite fit in with any of them, even when I was little.” Martin screws up his face and makes a strangled sound, deep in his throat. Doulas hums encouragingly.

“I used to wonder, when I was young, if I was adopted. I mean, I looked like them, but they all seemed to be in step with each other and there I was like, like...this tacked on weirdo.”

Douglas lets his face express disagreement but waits for him to continue.

“I spent a lot of time alone, as you might imagine, a lot of it outside, and...and I’d see these planes, you know, go by in the sky, taking their invisible passengers away, and...and I wished it could be me, you know? I wanted to fly away too, to anywhere, to...well, there had to be somewhere for people like me, right? People no one liked?” 

If he hadn’t been so close, Douglas would not have seen that Martin is shaking as he confesses this. As it is, he cannot help himself from sliding closer, putting his hand on Martin’s shoulder supportively. Martin does not stop him.

He inhales deeply and makes another strange noise. Douglas squeezes. 

“My first memory is of lying on my back in the yard, watching this aeroplane, and, and I wanted so badly to fly with it, it was so graceful and strong and beautiful up there so silent and…” He sniffles, audibly, now.

“I remember running in to tell my mum that I knew what I wanted to be, when I grew up. I was so proud! I told her I wanted to be an aeroplane!”

He falls silent for what feels like minutes to Douglas, then sighs.

“...And I remember, she laughed at me, and she said ‘Silly Martin, you can’t be an aeroplane, you’re a boy!’ and then, then she called in my dad, and she told him, and he laughed too, and it’s just…” 

Douglas turns so Martin’s head can rest against his shoulder. “Tell me, Martin.” he says in the kindest voice he can muster.

Martin shakes his head against him. “You’ll laugh.” 

“Martin, I promise you I won’t. I really want to know.”

Martin twists to see his face then, and is apparently reassured by what he sees. 

“Okay Douglas. It’s just that...I remember being so happy, in that moment, when I ran to my mum, and she laughed at me and she told me no and then my dad did too and it’s that...I don’t remember them ever telling me that I could be anything else, I just remember that  _ no _ and them laughing…”

Douglas gets it now, he really does and the pieces of Martin slide into place for him. Martin’s very first memory is of rejection and disappointment. He never learned to expect anything else and grew forward from that.

“Oh, Martin.” Douglas hugs the younger man to him. “I understand. That must have been horrible for you. And to have that be your first memory, well, I really don’t know what to say except I wish your parents had been better.”

Martin smiles at him, one of those rare, crooked, real smiles that he rarely makes. “Thanks, Douglas, that’s...I’ve never told anyone that before, and...it actually feels good. I feel, like, maybe, you understand me?” And now he looks unsure again.

“Yes, Martin, I do believe I do, a little. Thank you for telling me. I know it was difficult.” He feels extremely paternal towards Martin in that moment and, quite without thinking, does what he would do for his daughter in that situation and kisses the top of his head. 

The second his lips touch Martin’s crown, they both freeze. Douglas sees all of the progress they have been bonding disappearing because  _ he is a colossal idiot,  _ he knows Martin will be offended and appalled and probably want to move out  _ with good reason  _ because while it seems like they've been getting there, this is a step too far and neither of them move and then he hears Martin make a tiny sigh and he squeezes Douglas’ hand.

“Thanks.” he whispers shyly.

_ “For what?”  _ Douglas can barely speak, he is gobsmacked, still seeing their friendship unspool before him in his mind.

“For listening, for not laughing. For...being my friend.”

He realizes that his face is still against Martin’s head. He hugs him again and then pulls away. 

“Martin, no, I wouldn’t, not for...the things that really matter, no.”

Martin smiles again and Douglas feels it warm his insides.

“When you’re not being an arrogant sod you’re actually quite a good friend.”

Douglas grins back. “When you’re not being a complete twat you’re quite a good friend too.”

Martin laughs and his entire body uncurls, loosens, and Douglas gets a view of his long, elegant throat, consistently bobbing adam’s apple drawing him like a beacon. 

Douglas coughs uncomfortably and moves away and Martin must have felt his mood shift because before Douglas can get up, Martin’s dropped to his knees in front of him and stops him with a hand on his knee.

“Douglas-”

Now he couldn't move no matter how much he wants to. He stares down at Martin having absolutely no idea what is about to happen and it’s  _ exhilarating.  _ This is Martin Crieff who he is always two steps ahead of and so is easy to fluster and he is completely unable to pinpoint what is happening between them, possibilities spreading out before him like pool angles, like refraction, he sees so much more and so much less and he is terrified to be at a loss against  _ Martin _ and isn’t that ridiculous?

He takes Douglas’ hand in both of his which is not something two men usually do with each other but they’ve quite been past that for a while now, haven’t they?

“Douglas, I want you to know that I really do value our friendship. I know -- I know I can be difficult. And it’s only, that, well you see, I’m actually...for the first time, happy, and well...” 

He’s stammering again, back to normal and yet not, and this is a situation he knows and yet he doesn’t. 

Douglas is still unfurling outcomes and Martin leans forward and Douglas inhales and Martin wraps his arms round Douglas’ middle and gives him a hug, the closest, most emotional hug Douglas has ever received but still a hug and wasn’t that just funny that he’d thought there for a minute that it was going to be something else, and that was absurd because here their height difference meant of course Martin was going to give him a hug and it hadn’t been what it had seemed like, Douglas you fool, and he hugs Martin back and says goodnight and stands up and he goes to his room and he lies awake and he  _ thinks. _


	15. Aeofoil

It was as if the air had changed between them and now he can’t stop picturing Martin on his knees.

And now, to Douglas, it seems like that is inevitably what’s going to happen.

He knows, he knows he could make it good for Martin. 

He’s already cultivated the peculiar brand of patience Martin needs, working beside his oscillating ego daily. 

Martin needs someone who knows that about him, who can balance on that knife edge. 

Who will help him find what he likes while still calling him  _ Captain. _

Who can let Martin be in charge while being patient with him. 

He tries out several different scenarios during masturbation sessions and they all lead to kissing Martin and showing him that this, this is something that Douglas is great at and that he knows Martin enough to guess what he likes and he starts to want to teach him.

Yet it seems like Martin swoons close and then backs away and then Douglas isn’t sure anymore.

  
If it weren’t for the last ( _ three _ ) divorces, and that they worked together nearly every day, and that MJN was more like a family than a job, Douglas’ hesitation would be over. Add to that their living situation, and he has to absolutely, positively be sure before he puts his plan into motion. That or he can nudge Martin into making the first move, which so far has not been working. 


	16. Equal Transit Theory

It is several weeks later.

Douglas asks in his syrupy tones. “Exactly what time do we have filed for leaving?”

“Four thirty. You know that.” 

“Mmm, and if one were to say, need to go across town between flights that would be totally doable, yes?”

“Why?” Eyes narrow into full-fledged Captain Crieff mode. “Douglas, what are you planning?”

“Oh, just a quick jaunt across town, that’s all.”

“You’re not smuggling again are you? You haven’t learned your lesson? After I expressly forbid-”

“-You haven’t exactly been complaining about all the nice touches this unsavory and illegal activity have been providing for you on a regular basis.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, my dear law-abiding captain, that you have been enjoying the fruits of my labors, above-board or not, and if you aren’t going to help then the least you can do is not get in the way.”

The constant tension has worn him down more than he thinks because he is instantly abrasive, irrationally affronted that Martin couldn’t let a single thing be easy, could he?

“Get in the way? How am I supposed to ignore -” 

“Oh spare me the morality speech. Your little arrangement with Carolyn isn’t exactly kosher either. Or is it only permissible to massage the rules to extend one’s martyrdom? I quite prefer the view from the other side, the one that comes with Italian sausages and cheese.”

Martin’s abrupt return to the high-strung, authoritative man from before he moved in is grating to Douglas, makes him defensive. He’s overreacting and yet Martin has him furious.

“Get out of the way Martin, and let’s just get on with this. I don’t have time for this nonsense and it’s not like you’ll stop me.” He’s yelling.

“You still don’t respect my authority!” Martin shrieks. “Maybe you’ll respect Carolyn when I tell her.” Martin turns to leave the cockpit, but is yanked from behind by Douglas’ hand on his arm.

“Now see here -” Douglas angrily grabs Martin’s wrist, spinning him and pinning his hand against the cabin door. He presses his weight to back Martin against the carpeted wall. Martin gasps loudly and stops struggling. Douglas has his wrist trapped up by his head. His pupils are blown wide. Douglas’ eyes dart to their hands, then chests, then eyes. Martin is flushed, panting, surprised, aroused. ` 

Douglas finds he is rock hard in his own pants. Neither of them moves. 

They are pressed, head to toe, Douglas’ grip tight on Martin’s throbbing wrist, breathing harshly, eyes locked on each other, nostrils flaring. 

They feel suspended inside an eternity, hanging, waiting, neither daring to speak, afraid to move, to look away.

Then Martin swallows, Douglas watches his throat move, and his mouth is on it before he knows what he’s doing. 

Martin groans and bares his throat and fists his free hand in Douglas’ hair.

Douglas growls and bites Martin’s Adam’s apple and tightens the hand pinning his wrist and Douglas can feel Martin’s cock twitch in his pants and Martin moans.

Douglas shoves his leg between Martin’s and Martin grinds against him and God, Douglas wants to tear him apart with his teeth, the arrogant little shit.

Martin thrusts against Douglas’ thigh and God, he’s never been this hard, and Douglas is bruising his wrist and biting his neck and it feels so good, it’s his fantasy of being enveloped by Douglas, but sharper and violent, and he loves it and -

Douglas’ mouth is covering his and his tongue is in his mouth and he is biting it and his lips and Martin can only pant and press harder into Douglas and -

God, he is shoving his tongue down his throat and Martin is letting him, is pulling his hair, is whimpering even, is -

“Gents?”

Arthur is knocking on the cabin door and they fling themselves apart, panting, staring.

“Just - just a minute Arthur.” Douglas grinds out, maintaining eye contact. “We’re just...finishing up in here.” His voice sounds wrecked and surely even Arthur can hear it.

“O-okay then. Is everything okay, only I thought I heard something and then you guys didn’t come out and then-”

“Yes Arthur, we’re fine, thanks,” Martin realizes he has to contribute. “Just, checking on a few settings and we’ll be done in a tic.” Douglas has begun the process of smoothing his hair into place and straightening his shirt. Martin can’t imagine what he himself looks like. 

“I’ll just meet you outside the plane then, shall I?” Arthur still sounds suspicious. 

“Yes, great, Arthur. We’ll...grab some lunch.” That seems to placate him.

“Right-o then.”

Martin closes his eyes and exhales gratefully. When he opens them, Douglas is twisting the door handle and leaving the cockpit.

Martin lets him go.


	17. Angle of Attack

Two hours later Martin arrives back at the plane, along with an extra-talkative Arthur, which is incredibly useful right now. He has been yessing and hmming at the right points, it seems, because Arthur hasn’t questioned him about anything again. He’s clutching his uneaten lunch in a brown paper bag. Douglas emerges from the other side of the plane also holding a satchel, likely his contraband. Martin feels suddenly foolish with the paper bag, feels like an errant schoolboy, faced by Douglas. 

Douglas must feel something similar because he clutches his bag closer to himself, and pushes past them into the plane.

“Gosh, is he okay?” Arthur, always astute at the wrong times, asks. 

“I don’t know.” Martin admits.

He bids Arthur goodbye and creeps into the cockpit. Douglas is already strapped in, staring straight ahead. He looks nervous, and this actually releases some of Martin’s tension.

Martin breaks the silence by beginning their standard operating procedures. Douglas answers in kind, and they are in the air without having looked at each other once.

Martin bites his lip and reflects on the fact that Douglas is the one who kissed him, who took him in, who makes him feel normal and not like a joke, at least not anymore, and so he decides to speak. “...Douglas -”

“You liked it.” The first officer interrupts, still not looking at him.

“What?” Martin is caught off guard despite initiating this conversation.

“When...I grabbed you. When I was rough. You  _ liked  _ it. Why?” Douglas’ tone is as carefully controlled as his forward gaze.

Martin’s instinct is to deny it, to protect his image, but then he remembers Douglas’ mouth on his, and how badly he’s wanted exactly that, and he forges ahead.

“Yes, I liked it.” he says quietly enough to catch the exhalation of his co-pilot. “I liked it because. It was you. Touching me. F-forcing me.”

_ “Forcing you?”  _ Douglas’ head whips to the side at this, finally meeting Martin’s eyes.

“Martin, I would never...” His eyes are round and scared.

Now it is Martin who drops his gaze. “I mean, I just mean, it means, if you’re taking me, then you really want me.”

“Oh,  _ Martin. _ ” Douglas’ face crumples into a complicated expression and he works his jaw. 

“But…”

“But what, Martin?”

“I’m not supposed to like you...rules and regulations...we can’t...fraternize... as co-pilots…”

“Martin, do you really think that’s the first thing we’d have trouble with if the CAA came barreling in here?”

Martin ducks his head.

“That’s what I thought. Now…okay...okay.” He mutters. “Let me get this straight, and please, Martin, tell me the truth.

“You...liked it when I kissed you.”

Martin snorts, and the sound is surprising in the tense air of the cockpit. “I think it was bloody obvious that I liked it, yeah.”

Martin beams at him them, and Douglas can’t help but beam back. 

“Okay then,” he continues, confidence creeping back into his voice. “Would...you like it to happen again?”

“I didn’t want it to stop.” Martin mutters ruefully and Douglas chuckles at this. 

“Good...good. Now, is this a thing that just happened or…” he trails off, leaving Martin to finish.

“Why am I answering all the questions?” Martin complains, and Douglas laughs, and things feel a little more normal.

“Fair enough. I liked kissing you, Martin. I liked touching you. I especially liked the way you responded, and I’ve been thinking about something like this happening for a while now. Your turn.”

For once, Martin pauses to carefully consider his words. “I’ve...wanted it, for a long time. A really, really long time, Douglas, but I didn’t think, I didn’t know, and then we were living together…” His face has lost its earlier joy and is back to being pinched.

“Easy now,” Douglas says, “One step at a time. And we’re in this together, okay? We both responded. We both liked it. So. We’ll go from there. No expectations, no judgments, okay, just, let’s be honest with each other and see where this goes.”

A surprised smile creeps back onto Martin’s face. “Really, Douglas, you actually want to try, with me, after, after you’ve seen everything?”

“Martin.” Douglas is fondly admonishing now. “I haven’t seen half as much as I’d like.”

And there it is, that spreading blush which first endeared Martin to him, and this is territory he can navigate. 

“So. How about when we land, we go home, clean ourselves up, and you let me take you out someplace nice, and then maybe a movie, a proper date, and we’ll see how it feels, yes?”

Martin breathlessly agrees. 


	18. How Much Lift Can You Make

The date goes better than Martin ever imagined, and yet as it unfolds, it makes sense that it would.

They are old hats at sitting and talking alone, for hours on end. The difference now is that it feels more open, to Martin at least, to have his heavy secret lifted. He doesn’t need to pretend not to stare at Douglas, or watch him move, or speak, or eat, and now he can freely fantasize about what those large hands could do, will do? to him later.

Douglas for his own part feels relieved, his recent desire for Martin making more sense if the Captain had unconsciously been projecting his own wants. He’d encouraged the too-thin man to order to his heart’s delight, not that Martin had done so, but they were both happily full, and Douglas had easily coaxed him into the accompanying movie.

“Feels so cliche’.” Martin had grumbled as they’d queued up, but Douglas saw that he was smiling proudly. He’d reached for Martin’s hand and was accepted.

The film allows Douglas to surreptitiously study Martin in profile, which was secretly why he’d always tried to cajole his first dates to the cinema. 

A small smile is playing at the corner of Martin’s lips as he stares ahead, still clasping Douglas’ hand. This is the position they are usually in together, side by side facing forward and yet, it is new, dripping with possibility.

He reflects on the differences between this profile and the one he so often viewed while they flew. 

This Martin seems less hunched, more relaxed, and Douglas is suddenly consumed with the desire to see just how soft, how pliant he can get Martin. He wants to see him lose the entire Captain facade and just fall to pieces with pleasure. He knows he can do it, if Martin will let him. He wants Martin to let him. He hopes Martin will let him.

Slowly, so slowly, he lifts one finger to trace the shell of Martin’s ear. He is rewarded with a tightening at their joined hands and sharply indrawn breath. Martin doesn’t pull away, and so he continues. He draws his single finger around Martin’s ear again, down the side of his face, neck, back up to his chin, across those sharp cheekbones. The entire time, Martin clutches his hand and breathes heavily. Douglas draws Martin closer into his side, and repeats the path with his tongue. Martin shudders against him.

Finally, Martin turns his own head to pant wetly into Douglas’ neck. He begins licking, sucking, and biting what he can reach. 

It is Douglas’ turn to shudder, and he emits a faint yelp of surprise when Martin’s hot tongue presses into his ear. 

This is about as far as they can go while in the theatre. 

“Shall we - ooh - retire to our domicile, sir?” He purrs as Martin licks a stripe up his neck.

“Yes, please.” Martin whispers.


	19. Steering Involves Banking

Martin needs someone older, more experienced. He needs someone who will take their time with him, seduce him, lead him slowly and carefully into the realm of passion. He needs someone who will initiate but not intimidate, someone who can make him feel safe and sexy at the same time.

Douglas is up for the challenge. 

Any misgivings Douglas had about getting involved with Martin are completely overpowered by his sheer responsiveness. Douglas had imagined that Martin would be shy, uptight, even prudish in bed. He is timid, almost never initiating, and does seem shy both about his body and touching Douglas’. 

But when Douglas can get him out of his head, and relaxed, Martin responds so beautifully to the smallest of touches, sighing and squirming and moaning.

The boy is probably touch-starved, Douglas muses, having not dated during his time at MJN, and having few friends except for them and the students at the share-house. Douglas really wants to know what Martin’s prior experience is besides “bobsled,” but every time he broaches the subject, Martin freezes up. Douglas knows not to push, but he does wonder.

Martin still blushes and stammers when things begin to heat up, but he is growing bolder now. He’ll initiate touches sometimes, tentative, hesitant ones, but Douglas lets his pleasure show at such actions, and Martin seems to have a soft spot for the full Richardson grin. 

They have not had intercourse of any kind yet, but Douglas is patient, especially considering how Martin swoons at the slightest affections. Sure, his other relationships have moved quicker, but Martin, well, Martin makes him want to take his time. 

His timidity makes Douglas consider every move, careful not to go too fast but also trying to make him want more. 

It’s not that Martin has said no to anything yet, rather that his reactions make each thing they’re doing that much more intense, special. For once, Douglas feels no need to rush into bed to seal the deal with his prowess. He is enjoying helping Martin discover his sexuality, sweetly. Earnestly. Their uneven statuses make Douglas intensely careful with Martin, in a way he has never been with a lover, even with Christine when they were both virgins. The things this boy does to him...

The whole experience is good for Douglas, helping him to savor the journey instead of focus on achieving orgasm as the sole prize. It’s good for his ego, too, knowing how heavily the lightest of caresses affects his young lover. And speaking of young...their slow pace makes Douglas feel like he is back in university, especially since they retire to their separate rooms after each session.

Douglas has not wanked this much since he was a teenager.

Still, they will do this at Martin’s pace, and Douglas vows to pummel whoever hurt Martin so badly as to make him so skittish. The boy’s body is sweet and he is so sensitive, to everything, that Douglas’ initial fantasies of bending him over and fucking him roughly seem gauche now.


End file.
